


The Babies of the Team

by Emotionally Compromised Robots (CDRomelle)



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: But they get better, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:30:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25300135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CDRomelle/pseuds/Emotionally%20Compromised%20Robots
Summary: In the early 1200s, Nicky and Joe are still the babies of the team.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 29
Kudos: 466





	The Babies of the Team

**Author's Note:**

> Do I even have to tag for Major Character Death in this fandom when the death isn't permanent? What's the etiquette?? In any case, in this fic a character dies but it, uh, doesn't take. You know the drill.

It happened every time either Nicolo or Yusuf got careless, or complained about a particularly painful death, or got a bit too worried when one of them took too long to come back. 

"Babies," Andromache would scoff. 

And if not her then Quynh, with that sparkle in her eye: 

"Oh, don't be harsh, Andromache. They are only babies." 

Neither Yusuf or Nicolo liked that very much. Few two-hundred-year-old men would. 

That is, until the Aquitaine incident. 

They were in southern France, protecting villages from highwaymen and keeping an eye on the growing "Cathar" movement which Yusuf and Nicolo found so fascinating. 

"Their message is one of peace," said Nicolo, as they sat around a fire by the road, eating a goat leg roasted over the campfire and a loaf of bread so hard they had to soak it in water to make it chewable. "Maybe they can end the fighting in the Holy Land." 

"I doubt it," said Andromache through a full mouth. 

"You don't know everything, Andromache," said Yusuf. 

"I know more than a baby like you," she retorted. Quynh giggled. 

Nicolo opened his mouth to disagree—and gagged. The rock-hard bread had fallen into the back of his throat. He gasped in shock—and the bread lodged deeper. 

"All right, Nicolo?" Yusuf asked.

Nicolo shook his head, gesturing at his throat. In another moment he was keeled over in the dirt, with Yusuf gripping his head between his hands and Andromache and Quynh shouting above them, their faces eclipsed by the darkness growing at the edges of his vision. 

"Nicolo, it's all right… let it happen and come back to me....just come back to me." 

He came back and he still couldn't breathe. 

Yusuf's words were like sand to him now, unable to be grasped. Andromache and Quynh little more than a distant roar. He clung to Yusuf's hand and wrist as his body twitched and jerked out of his control, his muscles on fire—

He came back  _ again _ and it was still there, in his throat, lodged even deeper, his whole body tingling with the ebb and flow of life without air, impossible life—

Then Yusuf was gone—Nicolo would scream if he could—and Andromache was there, a dagger in her hand. He felt the knife point go in at the top of his neck, and then nothing. 

When he came back, coughing and gasping and  _ breathing,  _ Nicolo was on the ground, his head in Yusuf's lap and a pool of blood beneath Yusuf's legs. 

"What—" he rasped. His throat felt like it had been run through with a thousand needles. Yusuf's lips were cool and dry on his forehead and for a moment Nicolo lay there, willing Yusuf's touch and scent to drive the pain and fog from his body. 

Something jostled his ankle. It was Andromache, wiping her dagger on his boot. 

"You're welcome," she said, then sat down and put another piece of bread into her mouth. 

Nicolo looked up at Yusuf, his hand going to his own throat. He felt the line of raised and puckered tissue stretching from the bottom of his chin all the way down to the top of his clavicle, felt it disappear under his fingertips, leaving behind smooth skin broken only by the odd unshaven hair under his jawline. 

Yusuf held something in his hand, the size of a piece of gravel and covered in blood. "She ripped your throat open," he said, his voice halfway between horror and wonder. "Pulled this out." 

"Mother of God," Nicolo said. His voice was no longer even hoarse. Even still, he lay for a moment longer in Yusuf's lap, his chest heaving. Breathing had never felt so good. 

Above him, Quynh's face appeared, her long hair dangling and a wry smile on her face. "That is how you deal with choking," she said, miming slicing her own throat with her finger. "It's just common sense. Why don't you know that?"

Nicolo and Yusuf exchanged glances. Yusuf glowered, as if to say,  _ no way.  _

But Nicolo only sighed. 

"Because we're babies." 

Quynh patted his hair, then extended her hand. He let her help him up, kicking away the dropped clump of bread as he stood. 

After that, Nicolo and Yusuf stopped protesting the nickname. 

**Author's Note:**

> The characters of The Old Guard now live rent-free in my brain 24/7.


End file.
